


Dancing Lessons

by Pegasus_Eridana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Regency dancing, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegasus_Eridana/pseuds/Pegasus_Eridana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is resigned to the fact that he has to learn a dance for his brother Sammy's wedding. He was not counting on the type of dance, or the insanely hot dance instructor who makes the idea of dancing with anyone else ever again pretty much unthinkable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Me again, with another anonymous tumblr prompt. This one was for dance instructor Cas teaching Dean. I imagine that this was not exactly what the prompter had in mind but I felt the need for some Destiel Regency dancing, so there we are. 
> 
> All the thanks to my editor, Ismene_Jane, who made time in her crazy busy schedule to read this for me, because she's the best. 
> 
> Enjoy the fluff and the dancing!

Dean stood in the large dance studio, shuffling nervously. He absolutely, unconditionally, one hundred percent did  _not_  want to be here. Sammy would be owing him for the rest of his shaggy-haired, puppy-eyed life.

Dean looked across to where said little brother was standing, looking  _way_  too calm for a soon-to-be-married moose who was about to learn how to dance. His fiancée, Jess, was standing next to him, practically glowing with excitement. Various other members of the wedding party had also been forced to turn up. Dean and Sam’s parents were in the corner, Mary evidently using a combination of threats and cajolement to persuade John not to walk out right then and there. Dean knew that Dad was ecstatic about the wedding but felt that his role as father of the groom should be limited to sitting in the front row and pretending not to cry at the ceremony. Dean was inclined to agree with his father on this one.

Charlie, his adopted sister was here with her girlfriend (and old friend of the Winchesters) Jo, as were the other ushers and bridesmaids. Even Jo’s mother, Ellen, was paired with their Uncle Bobby. Everyone had a designated partner.

Except Dean.

Dean was the Best Man for Sam, but the problem was that Jess hadn’t wanted to distinguish one of her friends above the others, and so there was no Maid of Honour, and all the bridesmaids were paired up with the other groomsmen. Sam and Jess had come up with the wonderful (horrible, awful,  _terrible_ ) idea that Dean could pick a partner for himself on the actual night and it would be all spontaneous and romantic.

Dean was not a fan of this idea.

Yet, because he was the  _best friggin’ brother ever_ , he had swallowed his objections (mostly) and humoured the happy couple by coming to this stupid training session to do the stupid dance (in which no-one would be watching anyone but the bride and groom so there wasn’t even a  _point_  to the rest of them learning it) and he just knew that he was going to look  _stupid._ He wouldn’t be able to find someone to dance with, or they’d be terrible.

Dean was not worried about his own dancing skills. Sure, he was no Swayze (yes, he had seen Dirty Dancing, but whatever Sam said about Dean crying at the final dance was nothing short of slander) but he had a good sense of rhythm and had the kind of natural confidence and charisma to shuffle round the dance floor for a while and make it look good (he hoped).

Suddenly, Dean realised everyone else’s attention was fixed on the doorway on the far side of the room. The dancing instructors hired to teach them whatever lame-ass dance Jess and Sam had planned entered the room. Three women and two men, and Dean (a strictly equal-opportunity appreciator of the human form) glanced over all of them. The women, a redhead and two brunettes, were all beautiful, regal features and willowy builds, as though they were from some past era. One of the men was blond, pretty good-looking if you liked men who wore t-shirts with a neckline that threatened to show off his nipples at any moment, and he also had a glint in his eye that Dean really didn’t like the look of.

The final man was about as tall as Dean, with a shock of dark brown hair, and electric blue eyes. Oh, and he was also the embodiment of physical perfection.

This was going to be a problem.

***

Dean’s conviction was solidified when, a moment later, after introducing themselves as four dance instructors and one pianist, the instructors paired up to give a demonstration of the type of dancing the wedding party would be learning.

Initially, Dean’s major worry was that it would be something sexy like a rumba or a tango, and he wouldn’t be able to keep his cool in front of the beautiful man (whose name was Castiel Novak and whose voice was of the Kathleen-Turner-as-Jessica-Rabbit-but-in-man-form-and-even-sexier variety). Then the pianist (Naomi) started playing and the dancers started dancing, and Dean realised that his worries had been unfounded.

The reality was so much worse than anything he could have imagined.

The dancers bowed and curtsied respectively to each other, then started joining hands, walking, turning, letting go, walking  _round_  one another…it was horribly similar to one of those period dramas Jess loved so much.

Then Dean felt himself go cold.

He knew that certain aspects of the wedding were designed in homage to the happy couple’s (frankly unhealthy) love of all things English Regency (and  _damn_  if it wasn’t just the cherry on the friggin’ cake of crap that he even knew that term), but he thought it was just things like the design of Jess’ wedding dress, and the fact that Sam and Dean would be wearing morning coats instead of tuxes.

Obviously he had been wrong. And mislead. And brought here on  _extremely_  false pretences, because  _no way_  was Dean Winchester going to be seen performing one of these dances,  _particularly_  not with some stranger who wouldn’t even know the choreography. Something needed to be done.

Attempting to remain unobtrusive, and with what he hoped was a pleasant smile on his face, Dean sidled over to where Sam was rapturously watching the dancers.

“A word?” Dean muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Sam drooped, obviously realising his evil scam was over, and moved with Dean into the far corner of the room. Once they were there, Dean turned and faced his brother.

“Mind telling me what the  _Hell_  this is?” Dean hissed. Sam started to speak, but Dean held up a severe and righteously indignant hand. “I mean, maybe,  _maybe_  you could have persuaded me to do this if you’d paired me with Jo or someone, we could have just done it and laughed, but seriously, Sammy! I have to learn this,  _on my own_ , and then pick some random chick or guy who won’t even  _know_  the dance and will make me look even more stupid? I mean, are you  _trying_  to make me look bad? ‘Cause I don’t need that shit, Sammy, not from you.”

Sam looked mortified.

“No, Dean, I’m so sorry, it wasn’t that at all! We just knew you wouldn’t come if we told you beforehand, and I  _need_ you there with me in this, Dean!”

Dean knew that he would not be able to resist the Samuel Winchester Puppy Eyes for long, but he wanted Sam to suffer for a bit, first. Of course Dean wouldn’t actually do anything to jeopardise Sam and Jess’ big day, even if that meant sacrificing his dignity at the altar of Ye-Olde-Weirdy-English Dancing. But Sam didn’t need to know that just yet.

So instead, Dean flung up his arms, huffed, and turned to walk away. He didn’t get far, though.

Obviously the dancing demonstration had finished, and all the couples were now on the dance floor, attempting correct bows and curtsies with emotions varying from enthusiastic (Charlie and Mary Winchester) to determined (Ellen) to extremely reluctant (John and Bobby, who Dean suspected had also been tricked into coming). The dance instructors were moving amongst the couples, giving tips and explanations as needed.

All except one.

Castiel stood directly in front of Dean. His head cocked was to one side and his piercing blue eyes twinkled at Dean, captivating him.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel said. Dean started; how did this incredible specimen of human gorgeousness know his name? Almost as though he had read his thoughts, Castiel explained.

“I was told that the best man would be without a partner. I already know what the groom looks like and everyone else has a partner, so I surmised that it must be you.”

Dean gulped; the thought that this man knew his name and was  _actually speaking to him in that sex voice_  was almost too much. He laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack on him like a teenager with his first crush. “But yeah, I, uh, didn’t know it was this kind of dancing, and, um, y’know, it really looks like you need a partner to do this kind of stuff, so I’ll just--”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted, speaking patiently. “There is an easy solution to this conundrum.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, slightly frantically because he fucking saw where this was going. “And that is?”

“I will be your partner for the duration of these lessons,” Castiel said, serenely.

Oh fucking fuckity fuck, Dean was  _doomed_.

***

“Now that you’ve mastered the bow, we’ll move onto some of the basic steps,” Cas (yes, in Dean’s head he was  _Cas_  now, shut up) said. Dean thought he might have some kind of aneurysm if he actually got to  _touch_  Castiel, and he nervously wiped his hands on his jeans. He had an extremely embarrassing and inappropriately fast crush on Cas; that didn’t mean he had to go and do creepy-sweaty-hand-syndrome on the poor guy, too.

They got into position, facing each other, then Dean realised that Cas was standing in the line with all the women.

“Sorry you’ve got to do the girl part, dude,” Dean said trying desperately to win back some of the man-points this dance lesson was costing him. Surprisingly, Cas just cocked his head to one side again.

“I don’t see it that way,” he said simply. “Yes, I am in the line containing most of the women in the room, but that does not mean that the role I play in this dance is any different from yours, Dean.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Cas continued speaking. And far be it from Dean to ever stop that voice from talking, or that mouth to stop forming beautifully around his words.

“It’s one of the reasons I love the dances from this era so much,” Castiel mused. “In most other traditional Western dances, the man takes the dominant role, the leader, the aggressor. Even in the so-called equality of today’s society, our dancing is still driven by men.  _These_  dances, however, are mirror-images. I make the same movements that you do; it is a coming together of  _equals_. Considering the society in which these dances were originally performed, I think that is exceptional, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replied, but his brain was honestly mainly saying inwardly:  _he’s brainy and gorgeous – we like this one, we like him a lot._

“That’s why I do the work that I do, and why I think that this is such a good choice for a wedding dance,” Cas continued blithely, unaware of Dean’s inner monologue. “These dances are amazingly feminist, really, even though they’re over two centuries old. There is no role defined by gender, here. The dances could just as easily be done with two women, or, as we are currently demonstrating, two men. It is truly fascinating.”

 _Passionate, too,_  Dean’s brain whispered. Then, oh _shit_  his cock decided to join in.  _Bet he could show us some good ol-fashioned lovin’_.

“Now, onto the dance,” Castiel said. “We start by joining hands…”

Yep. This. Was.  _Torture._

 

***

Dean trudged through the by-now-familiar steps with a heavy heart. It was the last rehearsal before the wedding, which meant that it was the last rehearsal before he would have to perform this dance.

And he would have to perform this dance with someone other than Cas.

And that was not the least bit the reason why Dean was moping.

It wasn’t at all that over the last few weeks, Cas had become the thing Dean looked forward to the most. It wasn’t that Dean had found himself falling more and more for this strange, passionate, intelligent, dryly witty and intensely compassionate man; and that the idea of not seeing him regularly physically  _hurt_. It wasn’t about the broken heart Dean knew he was about to be nursing because no way in Hell was he going to ask out a guy so totally out of his league.

Nope. Dean was only snippy because in a couple of days he had to do a stupid dance in public. That was it.

It didn’t mean that he didn’t savour every time his hand joined with Cas’ as they were practising, though. 

At the end of the rehearsal, Castiel came over to Dean.                                            

“It has been a real pleasure working with you, Dean,” he said in that voice that would be haunting Dean’s dreams and starring in his fantasies for the rest of his life. “I am sorry to see you go, but I wish you the best for your future life and, of course, for the wedding itself.”

“Yeah, thanks for everything, Cas. Be seein’ ya,” Dean managed to squeeze out past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He held out his hand, and Cas took it in his own warm ones, putting gentle pressure on it before letting go and standing still, watching with those sapphire eyes as Dean turned to leave.

Walking out of that dance hall was one of the hardest things Dean had ever had to do.

***

Dean took a sip of champagne and sighed. The wedding had gone off without a hitch, and Dean had  _crushed_  his best man duties, calming Sam down when they were getting ready, tying Sam’s tie for him (just like when Sam went to his first school dance) when his hands were too shaky to do it himself, being ready and waiting with the rings and with tissues. There had been tears, of course: Sam had cried, Jess had cried, Mary had cried, and most of the bridesmaids had cried. John, Bobby and Dean had all pretended not to cry.

It was the reception now, and the happy couple were practically glued to each other’s sides and surrounded with well-wishers so Dean was taking a moment for himself. He felt drained, not just from all the emotional support he’d been giving Jess and Sam leading up to the wedding, but also from pretending that he wasn’t suffering from major Cas-withdrawal.

He thought he’d done pretty well; though Sam was so pre-occupied with the wedding that he would barely have noticed if Dean had taken to swanning around in high heels and a bright pink wig. But all the forced jollity took its toll, and Dean just wanted it to be over.  The dark-haired man was in all his thoughts and dreams. Waking or sleeping, Cas’ gravel-smoked-whiskey voice was there, making comments and observations everywhere Dean went. Missing Cas was  _exhausting_  and Dean was sick of it. He just wanted the dry, insanely hot man in his arms where he belonged. Was that too much to ask?

Of course, Dean was ecstatic for Sammy; no-one was more deserving of happiness. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard, seeing his brother get his happy, romantic ending where Dean was left pining for the dance instructor with whom he had stupidly and irrationally fallen in love.

And now it was time to do the dance which Dean had unhelpfully dubbed in his head his and Cas’ dance, which didn’t help. Dean was despondently looking over possible partners, unable to shake the view that none of them held a candle to Cas, and that it was increasingly likely that Dean was going to break down in the middle of the dance because it was going to feel so  _wrong_  doing it with anyone but Castiel.

Sam abruptly pulled him out of his thoughts by grabbing his shoulders and practically dragging him into the middle of the dance floor, announcing that Dean would be choosing a partner then and there. Dean surveyed the crowd one more time, and decided to go for a safe option. Krissy Chambers wasn’t even out of her teens so there could be no thought of any romance, but she was snarky and clever and would hopefully pick up the dance without too much trouble whilst also maybe helping Dean to keep it together with her funny remarks. He opened his mouth, ready to call her name, but the words died in his throat as he spotted a thatch of dark, unruly hair at the back of the crowd.

Castiel made his way through the people, eyes fixed on Dean. Dean wasted no time in crossing the floor to meet him.

“Cas, what’re you doing here?” he asked, almost not believing what he was seeing.

“Jess and Sam invited me, but a previous engagement ran late so I missed the ceremony,” Cas replied.

“You…you…you’re really here,” Dean stammered, brilliantly. Castiel smiled, all white teeth, chapped lips and blue eyes that shone even more brightly than in Dean’s dreams.

“I’m really here, Dean,” he said gently.

Dean was overcome with emotion. Unable to speak, he took Castiel’s hand in his own and raised it to his lips, pressing it to them for a long moment. Then, not letting go of Cas’ hand, he plucked the rose from his own buttonhole and presented it to Castiel.

“Mr. Novak,” he said gravely, only his eyes betraying his happiness. “If you are not otherwise engaged, might I be so bold as to claim you for the next dance?”

Castiel smiled even wider in response, and accepted the rose.

“I am not otherwise engaged, sir,” he replied.

***

**Three Years Later**

Dean and Castiel Winchester stood opposite each other at the head of the line of couples. The music started, and they both bowed.

The music swelled and subsided like waves, and the lines of dancers mirrored that, coming together then separating, joining hands, arms around waists, eyes locked on their partners.  

Dean and Castiel went smoothly and gracefully through all the moves, smiling at each other and never looking anywhere else. As the music drew to a close, instead of the traditional bow, Dean pulled his husband to him and kissed him deeply, nibbling and caressing lips that, no matter what chapstick he tried, remained as chapped as they had been when they had first met.

 “So tell me, Mr. Winchester,” said Dean teasingly once they drew apart just enough to lock gazes again. “Good first dance as a married couple?” Castiel smiled, that beloved smile that seemed reserved exclusively for Dean, eyes shining with adoration.

“My darling Mr. Winchester,” he replied. “The best.”

**Author's Note:**

> My editor pointed out that Dean's cock talks like Benny. After laughing a lot, I have now decided that Dean calls his cock Benny. For reasons. And said cock does indeed talk with a Louisiana accent. 
> 
> Feedback gives me life, so please please leave some. 
> 
> Also feel free to come and chat with me on tumblr (my URL is heckamightygadzooks) or give me more fluffy prompts because I seriously adore writing these things.


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